


Assassin's Creed: The Wounded Rook

by swestropp



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Assassins vs. Templars, Blood and Injury, Crime Fighting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gang Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Siblings, Swearing, Templars, Twins, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 10:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swestropp/pseuds/swestropp
Summary: The Rooks-a formidable new force in the city of London, much to Evie's dislike. Her sibling was out there on the streets, doing good...in a different way then what she would deem as effective but none the less the Rooks were taking control of the boroughs. Even she would admit. Jacob's actions since his arrival in London have drawn much attention...too much attention. That attention may get him killed...





	Assassin's Creed: The Wounded Rook

Throwing his fist out he cracked the Blighter in the jaw sending the man crashing back into a number of unused crates. They crackled, buckled and splintered. Jacob ducked low as another man attempted to grab him. Swinging his fist the Rook caught the man's abdomen, causing his attacker to double over. Now was his chance. Grasping the back of the man's head Jacob slammed his knee upward into the man's nose. There was a loud snap as bone was shattered and broken. Jacob let a small cry of glee escape him. The man flopped down next to his blighter brother who was already squealing in pain. Jacob stood, turned and looked over his shoulder to Andy. The bull of a man was, at that moment, busy upturning a barrel and cracking it down over another of the Blighter gang members. It shattered upon impact with the brawler. Andy gave an elated cry of pleasure.

"Worthless shit!" Andy growled before hocking and spitting on the unconscious man. Andy himself was a beast. Tall, broad with the build of an unmovable ox all caged in a flannel shirt and vest. His head was balding and glinted in the afternoon light, a faint shadow of stubble coated his absurdly square lower jaw.

"Alright lads?" Jacob called loudly. From the second story of the ram shackled house, Will's head appeared out one of the windows. Jacob shot his eyes up to the man above him. The day was drawing to its close, the sun bathed the battered walls of White Chapel in a dusky orange glow. The City of London was falling into its slumber as the day came to its end, the beginning of its night was only the beginning. The wenches would wonder from their hovels, men would slink straight from their mindless labors of the day and into the clutches of the awaiting women. Jacob tipped his top hat to Will, the man nodded and saluted before disappearing from view back through the window of the home a number of hard clatters following. Jacob turned to nod to Andy before both spun and charged another two awaiting Blighters.

"Give us a hand," Jacob nodded. Andy smirked, lengthened his stride and collapsed onto all fours. The assassin was quick to use the man as leverage. Jumping forward he placed a foot on Andy's back hurling himself forward kicking out at one of the Blighters before turning his shoulder and crashing against the second.

A whistle began to blow.

Jacob tussled with the man on the floor, his top hat toppling from his head. Curling his fist he cracked his knuckles against the man's jaw, the Blighter's head thwacked against the floor sending a spray of dirt and water into Jacob's eyes. Cursing he brought a hand up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. The Blighter twisted and gave him a knee to the base of his spine. He rolled off, scrambling in the mud. The whistles continued. That must have been the rozzers. Jacob swiftly snatched his top hat off the sodden cobbles.

"Jacob! Trouble!" Will called. Jacob cursed-that was all he needed. The day had started out shitty and it appeared that was how the day was going to end. Shitty. Will quickly came to Jacob's side.

"Call it a day then?"

"Not unless you want to end up in the Salt Box," Jacob cocked a brow with a smirk, reaching up Jacob ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face before dusting down his hat and propping it atop his head. "Oi! Tea leaf!" Jacob called. Andy paused in his pummelling and looked up. "Crusher's on its way, get to the Mary Blaine yeah?"

"When I'm through 'ere!" Andy grinned through his gap riddled teeth, most had been knocked out from fighting in the pits. Jacob rolled his eyes, before turning to Will. Brushing the edge of his thumb against his cracked lip he heard the whistles entering the alley.

"Shall we?" Jacob nodded.

"After you boss." Jacob bolted, Will in one direction he in the other.

He ducked left, noting the fence he didn't dare a glance back and dropped. Sliding across the ground he slipped through the narrow hole at the base of the fence and sprung to his feet. He ran. He noted a bridge up ahead, which crossed a narrow canal. Counting his strides he leaped up onto the bridge, a foot to each railing paused, glanced over his shoulder, there another whistle. He laughed before hopping down and taking to the streets again. Emerging the end of the alley mouth he crashed into a man. The pair toppled to the floor, the moocher tumbled into one of the puddles in the cobbles beneath a wagon. The horse gave a shrill whinny. Jacob quickly found his feet snatched the purse which had clattered onto the road from the man's pocket, along with the top hat. There were cries from the women, laughs from the children and gasps from the men. Jacob found his feet, twisted the purse in his gloved hand, he'd keep that the hat though? That Jacob swung the hat toward the man who still lay in a heap on the floor. He bowed low to the man on the floor and doffed his hat.

"Apologies," He smiled.

"You-why you-absolute-you...prig!"

"I am not the muck snipe in the puddle," Jacob corrected tossing the purse into his coat pocket.

"Oi!" A policeman shouted. Well, they were certainly out and about today. Jacob heaved a breath before swinging the top hat back atop his head, turning and bolting once more. Leaping he used a wall as leverage, grasped hold of one of the overhanging balcony's and heaved himself up. A gunshot snapped against the wood. He paused, glanced down to the hole embedded in the wood of the balcony before looking down to the police milling about the fallen man. The man who had released the bullet glared. Jacob smirked and performed a mock bow. Turning Jacob heaved the window to the building up and open. Slipping through the window, it led into a child's bedroom. Two children were sitting up in their bed clutching their bed sheets wide-eyed and screaming. Jacob crossed the room, leaped one of the beds, reached the door and jerked it open. A man appeared in a robe, the children's father perhaps? Jacob threw out his elbow knocking the man in the jaw. He tumbled to the side. Stepping over him the assassin crossed the hall into another bedroom making for the window. It was already ajar. Thrusting it open he sprung onto the window sill and out onto the roof of an opposing house. He ran.

****

Wrapping a hand on the lamp post he swung out before dropping down the step. The night had come quick and now there was nothing but the flicker of the lamps from within the homes and the glare from the street lanterns. Jacob cast his eyes to his right. A man stumbled from the Cauldron and Stewpot. He had lost the rest of his rabble when he had fled from the copper's. He...had earned it hadn't he...? Drifting closer Jacob watched its doors, they lay open...quickly the decision was made to enter. No doubt the train would be somewhere lurking around the borough, Agnes at its head, but for now after the day he had? A bottle of red growler was no doubt in order. Slipping into the small pub he noted a man in the far left sat heavily at a table arguing with the wall, a large pot-bellied lady near the counter mopping up...something, the one running it all behind the counter. Nothing of note. That was no bad thing and in truth, it was a welcome thing. With the Rooks movement to seize the Whitechapel borough growing it was hard to not run into conflict on a daily basis merely strolling the streets. The Blighters were out to catch each and every Rook available to them. In fact, Jacob was sure Cletus Strain was hunting him currently. Approaching the counter Jacob swung the purse from the pocket of his heavy leather trench.

"What can I do you for?" The man behind the counter asked.

"Your finest," Jacob smirked.

"How fine?"

"Finest," Jacob nodded. Slipping onto one of the stools he rifled through the purse, popped a coin out and flipped it toward the barkeeper. Instantly the man's eyes lit up with greed and he spun searching his inventory. Jacob glanced up and down the counter noting a nearby empty bottle he snatched it up, while also drawing a candle closer. Doing what he could to even attempt to peer at his reflection. Bruised cheek and a burst swelling lip...not bad considering. He had received worse in the pits when Andy and he would take bets on who would last longer, in the end, it had usually been Andy who would outlast him. He was brute after all. That man was built like a heavy steel chimney, unmovable, unbreakable and it would be an undeniable feat if someone could put a dent in that man's jaw. Jacob would be the first person to present the medal. His attention was drawn away from faded memories and back to the barkeeper who slid a bottle across the counter toward him, swiftly it was caught, lifted and drank from. Jacob inhaled the contents allowing the liquid to heat his chilled bones. The rain was beginning to dribble down outside again. Jacob peered only briefly over his shoulder toward the door and out into the street. Quickly his attention was reverted to the quarry in his hand.

To celebrations.

Once his thirst was sated and his, well his borrowed, purse was empty Jacob had decided to attempt to locate the train. Stepping out of the pub he peered up the street, a carriage was trotting senselessly toward him.

It was of no danger to him.

Turning he began in the opposing direction-if he remembered right the tracks were north...or was it south? Cursing he paused in his tracks and peered back up the street attempting to pinpoint his location, perhaps hear the iron horse itself heaving a whistle? What would Evie say when he came arrived back to the train? Scold him no doubt...her voice was already rolling around in his head. Jacob noted the carriage had pulled to one side of the street. Jacob studied the man sat at its helm, a man with a tall top hat his head down, a heavy trench coat, it's collar pulled high. It was then Jacob noted something else, the horse itself was heaving, it's coat, beneath the leather of its harness, was white with sweat, steam drifted into the dark of the sky. The rain continued to patter down. Jacob spun and continued on his way only to hear the clip-clop of hooves sound once again. Without stopping he dared a look over his shoulder to see the carriage had begun moving once more. Was it following him? It had to have been. Jacob checked his surroundings, where could he slip away? His eyes studied the tall buildings surrounding him, the lights within their windows now dim and extinguished. He was on his own. Quickly he searched his options. Pushing his hands into the pockets of his leather trench he darted a look up and down the street before striding out and crossed the street to the opposing side. The carriage quickened. Without pause, he slipped into an alley between two ram shackled houses. Jacob was quickly regretting his decision to not simply return to the train earlier now.

There was Evie's voice again-scolding him.

He knew exactly what she would have said. Why did he not resist his urge to 'celebrate' the Rooks small victory? The rain was swiftly washing away the warmth that his victory and celebrations had given him. A rat scuttled across the cobles at his feet, disappearing into a hole in the brickwork of a house. A cat's beady eyes watched him from atop a barrel, it mewled as he passed. Using that as an excuse he peered over his shoulder to the animal, really though he was looking past it to the mouth of the alley.

The carriage had stopped now.

He could see it. A man hopped off the back of the carriage and began after him, the carriage continuing on. Cursing Jacob held his pace until he managed to round the corner. Now he ran. Breaking into a sprint he flew down the alley, being careful to avoid the puddles and overly slippery patches of the cobbles. The Rook looked back, there was a shout before his follower began to run, Searching for a route away Jacob dared a look up. There was nothing near or low enough to aid him in scaling the building, no low hanging signs nor an open window he could slip through. All the doors would be, by now, firmly locked. In the time it would take to open one his pursuer would be on top of him. He skipped over another puddle and ran on. Taking a right turn he came into contact with a high fence-quickly vaulted over it and ran forward. He peered over his shoulder, the man was scrambling very ungracefully over the obstacle. Really? They couldn't even send a proper killer after him? He didn't need to argue it would give Jacob the seconds he needed. He bolted for the end of the alley.

He crashed against a solid blunt force and toppled back.

Looking up he noted the horse stood over him. The same scraggy black beast he had seen earlier. Its teeth grinding loudly on the iron within its mouth, the white foam expanding from beneath the leather harness. The doors to the carriage popped open and two men leaped out from its shell. Cursing Jacob scrambled up and made to combat them only to feel a blunt force crack into the back of his legs. He faltered and hit the pavement with his knees.

"Oh, look-birdie forgot its wings!" A man jeered. Jacob twisted and kicked out-his boot met with the meat of a man's leg. A grunt sounded. "Ow little bastard!"

"Who you calling little?" Jacob growled wasting no time in making an attempt to rise again however he was swiftly foiled. A fist clapped the back of his head, and he crumpled into the waiting grasp of another man. His arms were swiftly grabbed and held firm, his body heaved up. Managing to focus his eyes they landed upon Cletus Strain. The sturdy brute stepped down from the carriage and stood tall, his scrutinizing eyes studying Jacob.

"Evening Strain," Jacob nodded, "Fancy meeting you here." Jacob chimed happily.

"Shut it, heard you been knocking about my district Rook," Strain growled before throwing his fist across Jacob's cheek. That stung, it also caused his cracked lip to burst once more. A drool of blood rolled down his chin. "Don't appreciate people in my district that ain't welcome. And no one said you could come into my district."

"Should keep yourself at that house of yours then eh? Or did they let you out of the asylum for the weekend?"

"Fucking Rook," Strain growled his fist again came to hammer Jacob.

"That all you got?" Jacob smirked.

"Ave some respect you beggar," One of the Blighters hissed. Strain's eyes narrowed dangerously. His dome-like head seemed to grown a foot in height as he loomed over Jacob. Jacob wasn't deterred however, he had met far worse. Strain lunged forward grabbing Jacob and hammering his fist across his jaw once again. Jacob hit the floor. Hard. His head was beginning to spin, he felt the pit in his stomach about to wretch, his night had started so well... The Blighters laughed as Jacob hit the pavement.

"I never liked you," Strain hissed.

"Your words are riveting," Jacob hissed peering up over his shoulder to the man.

"Lambeth is my borough."

"Not for much longer," Jacob corrected. Strain ducked low and grasped the front of Jacob's shirt pulling him in close, again. Too close for Jacob's liking. He could smell the alcohol on Strain's breath, could see the food between his teeth, even in the dim light of the night.

"Heh..we'll see. Hold him down, lads." The blood drooled a little further down Jacob's chin. Two of the blighters moved forward and restrained him. Hold him down? What more pummelling? What would it prove? That Strain could fight a man that couldn't retaliate? Jacob of course-didn't make it easy for them and kicked out, threw his fists out. Strain laughed before standing tall and casting a look to the Blighter's holding the Rook. Jacob felt the Blighter's retaliate instantly, knocking their fists into his abdomen-into his body. Jacob began to see stars flitter in his vision-a sharp silver glint captured his attention. Strain turned now and clicked the barrel of the revolver. Shit.

"Like I said, Rook. No one ever said you could come into my district," Strain laughed spinning and holding the revolver high.

Shit.

**BANG**


End file.
